


A Shining Star

by daasgrrl



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Seasonal, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daasgrrl/pseuds/daasgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late post-ep to <i>Finding Judas</i> which got a little complicated - may now be considered as a happier alternative to <i>Merry Little Christmas</i>. Slightly demented, but happier! Wilson opts out of going to House’s office, instead leaving Tritter to outline the deal to House all by himself. He then has to cope with the repercussions. Don’t worry, House and Wilson will be okay. Promise. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs and thanks to **evila_elf** for endless rereads, and forcing me to tear things apart and put them back together again.
> 
> Many thanks also to **bironic** , **nightdog_barks** and **hllangel** for answering my questions so patiently, as well as taking the time to give detailed concrit and feedback. It all helped immensely. Anything you disapprove of is still mine.
> 
> I have to say I hated Tritter when he first appeared, but then grew rather fond of him in FJ before he became bastard!Tritter again in MLC - this fic uses the (slightly) more humane version. I also took the liberty of setting this on December 21st, even though by my calculations MLC actually begins a day or two later. There were reasons - which US residents may or may not appreciate *g*. 
> 
> Happy Solstice!

In retrospect, Wilson thought, maybe he _should_ have gone along with Tritter to let House know what he had done. But at the time it had seemed clear that House was no longer interested in anything he had to say. Better to let Tritter handle it and explain himself to House afterwards. Or so he had thought.

And now it was late afternoon, and he was back in Tritter's makeshift office, having to ask the man what House’s response had been.  
  
“Thought he might have discussed it with you himself.”

Tritter's eyes were sharp behind the deceptively casual manner. His head was tilted to one side, waiting.

Wilson managed a short sound of something resembling amusement. “We talked. Briefly. He said - and I quote - 'While you're playing Judas, you should remember that _he_ was considerate enough to hang himself afterwards'. That's all I could get from him.”

He didn't know why he was telling Tritter this, exactly, only that he somehow seemed to have completely run out of people he could talk to. After that exchange, House had pointedly stopped speaking to him altogether, in the literal and extremely childish way that only House could manage. Cuddy had told him off for jeopardizing the welfare of the hospital, and he was virtually a pariah in the entire Diagnostics department as well, since House had effectively forbidden his staff to speak to him either. He should have gone, he thought again, should have explained his reasons first and let Tritter outline the deal later.

“He's going to think about it,” Tritter said. “He has three days.”

Wilson breathed a small sigh of exasperation. “He'd better make the right decision.”

“He'll see reason. He might even thank you for it, someday.”

“I don't think you know House.”

“I think I know him well enough.”

Wilson shrugged. “Anyway, it’s done. One way or the other.” He shook his head, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “You won. I hope you're happy.”

He put a hand on the table and stood up, but before he could move, Tritter had stood as well and reached out to stop him with a brief hand on his forearm.

“He _is_ an addict. You of all people should know that. Between the two of us, he'll get the help he needs.”

“Oh, don't make it sound so noble,” Wilson snapped, not swallowing the line that Tritter was so obviously feeding him. “I know what he did to you. You couldn't give a damn about whether he needs help or not. You just wanted revenge for the thermometer he stuck up your ass.”

“So it has to be one or the other. It couldn't possibly be both.”

“Does it really matter now?”

“Motivations always matter, even if we pretend they don't.”

Tritter walked around to the front of the desk and perched himself on the edge, not too close, where Wilson could look slightly down at him.

“You feel like you betrayed him,” Tritter said, sincerely. “But you didn't. All _you_ did was to tell the truth. He forged those scripts, not you. You did everything you could to help him. You're still doing it.”

“House obviously doesn't see it like that.”

“Then he's an idiot.”

“Look, I don't need… counseling, or whatever this is. He'll be fine. I'll be fine. Once you get the hell out of here and leave us all alone.”

He took a single step away, but Tritter caught him again. His grip was stronger this time. Wilson shook him off, but Tritter was suddenly blocking his way to the door, as imposing as ever. For someone who seemed so nonchalant, he moved so very _fast_.

“Right now, I think being left alone is the last thing you want.” His voice was oddly low and soothing.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Tritter looked into Wilson's eyes, searching, and there was something disturbingly intense and familiar about his gaze. It distracted Wilson so much that he almost lost focus on what Tritter was saying.

“You're not as bitter as he is. Not yet. But you're lonely, too. Not by choice, but you are. I've met a lot of people like you. Perfect family, perfect job, perfect life. Nasty little secrets all kept safely locked away where no one can see them. And when it finally falls apart, everything goes with it. Everything.”

“I'm not… my life is none of your business. I've done what you wanted.”

“It's all my business. People. What they want. What they need. What gets them through the night, sometimes.”

Tritter was standing too close to him, and yet Wilson couldn't seem to move. Tritter reached out to place a hand on Wilson's shoulder, then trailed it a few inches downwards before taking it away. That was all, but the implications were unmistakable. Wilson shivered. Not just at the thought of Tritter's hands on him, a suddenly compelling prospect in itself, but at the clear understanding that lay beneath the gesture. He wondered just how much Tritter knew, and how. Wilson had been so very careful in his life, so very discreet. He'd never said anything that could identify him, had never gone anywhere he'd be remembered. Even his wives had never known, or so he'd thought. But Tritter seemed to have read him effortlessly.

“God, does… does that ever work? Is anyone really that stupid? That _desperate_?”

“Depends how lonely they are. And how guilty they feel. And how badly they need to forget. You'd be surprised. At least I'm not going to tell anyone. Not that there's really anyone to tell, now.”

Wilson had his money back. He had his car, which had been released to him early that morning at the impound. His patients were still scattered, but most of them would return. His staff were still around, kind and dutifully supportive, but he was their boss. He couldn't allow himself to depend too heavily on any of them. His wife was long gone, Cuddy furious with him, and House and his staff were all too clearly off-limits. He needed something. Someone. And Tritter could obviously see that all too well. If he'd been setting Wilson up for this, he couldn't have done it any better. He made one last-ditch grab at self-preservation.

“You don't understand anything, do you? It's _your fault_. _You_ did all this. You! Why would I want to…? I'm not going to just go and… with you… you practically ruined my life!”

“With you, I think that practically counts as a seduction, doesn't it?” Tritter was smiling now, his eyes gleaming with amusement and confidence.

“This is… you're completely insane.”

Tritter shrugged. “I'll be waiting for you when you leave. Guess we'll find out.”  
  
  
***  
  
  
Tritter was true to his word, as Wilson had known he would be. When Wilson made it to his newly reclaimed Volvo, Tritter was parked in one of the bays across and a little over. He nodded as Wilson caught his eye. Wilson clenched his jaw and steadfastly ignored him.

As Wilson climbed into the driver's seat, Tritter swung his cruiser out into the lot, clearly indicating that Wilson should follow. Wilson stuck the key in the ignition, and rested both forearms on the steering wheel for a moment, resisting the urge to bang his head against them repeatedly. He watched Tritter begin to drive slowly away. He was not doing this, he told himself. He was not going to do this. Until the moment he started the car and obediently began following Tritter out of the lot, he was almost convincing.  
  
  
***  
 

It was a hotel. It was a _nice_ hotel. Better than the one he was living in, actually. Wilson couldn't help but smile a little ruefully at that. He got out of the car and followed Tritter through the lobby and into a waiting elevator in silence. He could feel the need, trembling just under the skin, and didn't trust himself to speak.

The room itself was even more of a surprise. It was what appeared to be a suite. The door opened into a small entryway, with short hallways leading to half-open doors on either side. There was a small display stand directly ahead with a telephone on it and a gilded mirror above, in which Wilson could see their reflections. Tritter seemed to tower over him in the dim light, making him once again doubt the sanity of his own actions. The lights had already been on when they entered; Tritter had left a duplicate card-key in the slot by the door, and Wilson watched as he pocketed the one he had used to gain entry. There were soft murmurs and a snatch of music off to the left; a television had obviously been left on as well.

“I'll just get that,” Tritter said. “You wait in there.” He indicated the door to the right, which turned out to be the bedroom.

Wilson hesitated just inside the inner doorway; it was all so disturbingly matter-of-fact. He wanted to go back out, delay, maybe have a drink, talk a little. _About what?_ his inner voice inquired snidely. _Haven't you already said enough?_ He wondered exactly when it had started sounding like House. It did seem a bit late to suggest having dinner before proceeding.

Instead, he walked a little further into the room, which was decorated in dark wood and a tasteful palette of blues and neutrals. He threw off his overcoat first, draping it over a stuffed armchair on the far side of the room. The bed was like a million other hotel beds - an inoffensively navy expanse of bedspread pulled taut at the corners. Just a temporary resting place for hundreds, maybe even thousands of anonymous strangers. He and Tritter would be just two more in a long line.

Wilson was sitting on the edge of the bed when Tritter came back in. Tritter had already taken off his tie, throwing it casually onto the small writing desk to his left as he approached the bed. Wilson stared at him, once again wondering exactly what he was doing. His body knew, though. There had been nothing between them but that single touch, not even skin on skin, but Wilson had been in this situation before, and he already knew how it would go. How it always went.

It had been almost an accident, that first time. Almost. He had been married for close to a year, and perfectly happy. Sure, it had been difficult at times, but he had been happy. But being married didn't exempt you from being polite to people. So when Sarah had gone home to visit her folks, and Wilson had gone out to a jazz bar, and the slight, dark-haired guy had looked him over and started talking to him, he had been polite, and friendly. Maybe a bit too friendly, in retrospect. And that evening had ended at Ryan's place - or was it Bryan? - and Ryan's mouth on him, something that beautiful, gentle Sarah would never have done, and it had been incredible. But he had never tried to see Ryan again, and had studiously avoided that bar for at least the next year. Even at the beginning, he had been careful.

It didn't happen often - once or twice a year, maybe, when he'd had a fight with his wife, or when his family demanded too much from him, or when more people were dying than usual. Or when things just seemed overwhelming and he felt unable to be everything to everyone at once. This - this one thing - was for him. It was his chance to be completely, anonymously selfish. He didn't need to worry if the other guy got off - they always did, some way or other, and that was the beauty of it.

So far, he had been lucky enough to attract the men he wanted. Wherever he chose to go, it was always somewhere he'd never been, so he was always new, of interest to the regulars. He'd started with slight, dark-haired men like Ryan, then his natural preferences had reasserted themselves, and he'd moved onto blonds. As his confidence increased the men changed. He found himself attracted to taller, more muscular men. Sometime soon after he'd met House, he began to like them a little leaner, and preferably with blue eyes. Somewhere, he knew very well why, but he avoided thinking about it, as he managed to do with so many other things.

Now, Tritter was looming over him, fitting all his requirements nicely, and it was obvious that he'd been there before too.

“Take off your clothes,” Tritter said, abruptly, and settled himself on the bed. He made no attempt to even touch Wilson, although the way he was looking at him left no doubt as to his interest. Wilson got up and began to strip methodically - shoes, socks, tie, shirt. Tritter watched his every movement, finally making a decisive move towards him when he'd gotten the shirt off, but before he'd moved to do anything about his pants.

Then Tritter's mouth was on his, rough, demanding, making no pretence at anything more than animal contact. Wilson fell into step gratefully, his hands clutching at Tritter's ass. This was what he needed to find; the point at which he didn't need to think about anything, the point at which it no longer mattered. Where nothing mattered except the numbing heat and the promise of his own pleasure.

“I think you've made your point.”

It took a couple of seconds for Tritter to stop and disengage from him. And it took roughly the same amount of time for Wilson's head to clear long enough to wonder just how Tritter had managed to speak so clearly while his mouth had been fully occupied. The obvious answer being, of course, that it hadn't been him doing the talking. Realization and identification hit at almost exactly the same time, and Wilson turned his head with a swift, startled glance. House was standing just inside the doorway with both hands resting on his cane, his head tilted and eyes narrowed as though he were studying a particularly unpleasant symptom. Although he seemed to have been addressing Tritter, his eyes were firmly fixed on Wilson. Wilson's gaze darted back to Tritter, who appeared to be perfectly composed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Wilson resisted the urge to hide behind him, and settled for folding his arms defensively over his bare chest.

Now Tritter was definitely smiling. “Are you sure, Doctor House? A man of your tastes, I thought you might prefer a more… graphic demonstration.”

He reached out a hand towards Wilson, who immediately pulled away, despite having wanted nothing else only moments earlier. House's gaze burned into him accusingly. He had nothing to feel guilty about, nothing at all, he told himself sternly. But it didn't seem to be working.

“Get out.” House had finally turned to Tritter, and they stared each other down for a moment, fire and ice.

“One day you'll realize that you're not as smart as you think you are. People aren't diseases. Although I suppose if they were, you'd only want to get rid of them anyway.”

“I said, you can leave now. Are you deaf?” House's agitation was clearly only feeding Tritter's amusement. Wilson slowly backed away and slumped into the armchair, not caring that he was creasing his overcoat by sitting on it. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to find out, either. There was no way this could end well.

“Fine.” Tritter held up both hands, mock-placating. “But aren't you forgetting something?”

House glared at him for a moment longer, and then reached into his back pocket. Wilson tensed for a moment, but it was only House's wallet. It was so easy to forget what that looked like. Slowly, House counted out what appeared to be six fifty-dollar bills. He considered the bundle for a moment, but instead of handing it to Tritter, he threw it contemptuously onto the desk.

“I'll be waiting for your answer,” Tritter said, brushing past to pick up the money. He tucked it neatly into his shirt, and retrieved his tie at the same time, knotting it loosely around his neck as House glared. “And don't forget,” Tritter added, keeping his eyes on House, “ _You_ get to pick up the tab for the room.“

Wilson covered his eyes in embarrassment and completely missed Tritter's exit, but he heard the soft click of the door as it swung shut.

The silence was deafening.

The lights had already been on… the television… of course, House couldn't be expected to actually _wait_ anywhere for any amount of time without asserting himself. Wilson wondered if it had been a subtle, deliberate announcement of his presence, but decided it probably hadn't. Most likely he had just been confident that… what? That Tritter would be alone? Tritter hadn’t shown the least surprise at the interruption… and then, there had been the money… which could only mean…

“What was… was that a _payoff_?” He finally lifted his gaze to House. “You _bet_ him?”

House was just _looking_ at him again, as though he'd never seen him before in his life, not answering. Wilson quickly ditched embarrassment in favor of annoyance. It was difficult to muster up a decent level of outrage half-naked, but he managed. He'd had quite enough today of having House walk away from him, or pointedly turn his iPod up to maximum, or even once, memorably, sticking his fingers in his ears and chanting. He got up from the armchair to face him, shrugging his shirt on as he went.

“Enough games, House, just _talk_ to me. What the hell is going on?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Enough games, House, just _talk_ to me. What the hell is going on?”

***

House’s thoughts automatically went back to the events of that morning. He had been extremely late into the office; after the trials of the previous day, he had seriously considered calling in sick. It wouldn’t have been a lie. He was sick of the pain, sick of begging Cuddy for medication, sick of everyone’s interference in his life. But the continuing need for his pills finally forced him into work, since he very much doubted Cuddy was going to courier them over to his apartment, no matter how strong a case he made. The sight that greeted him instantly made his day infinitely worse: Tritter was sitting in his chair, feet up, half-hidden behind an open newspaper. House promptly walked up to the desk and swung his cane in a downwards arc; the tip swept the paper out of Tritter’s hands, almost striking him in its path. Tritter merely took his feet off the desk and looked at him impassively.

“You're the most unattractive excuse for Goldilocks I've ever seen,” House snapped. “You can investigate all you like, but do it somewhere else.”

Tritter straightened up a little in House’s chair, but did not rise.

“God, you look like hell.”

“And you look like… something really ugly. Run out of people to harass this morning?”

That drew a smile from Tritter that did not reach his eyes.

“Doctor Wilson came to see me last night. He’s willing to attest that he did not sign those prescriptions. But only if I offered you rehab as an alternative to serving time on forgery charges. Which is what I'm now doing. Two months. No jail time. I suggest you take it.”

House was taken aback, but only for a moment.

“If that’s true, then where _is_ Wilson? Cowering in his office? Is he afraid to come and face me?”

Tritter shrugged. “He didn’t think there was any point. Do you… really want to do this in front of everybody?” 

He nodded towards the conference room, where House’s team were all looking studiously and unconvincingly busy. The bruise House had inflicted still stood out as a livid purple mark on Chase’s jaw.

“I don't _want_ to do this at all,” House muttered. Nevertheless, he strode next door and dismissed his staff with a few sharp words. Chase and Foreman left immediately, but Cameron took a little extra yelling to get rid of, shooting Tritter a particularly hard glare as she left. Finally, the conference room was empty, and House went back into his office. Tritter stood up to meet him.

“So, what is it going to be?”

“I’m not taking any kind of deal. I need to speak to Wilson,” House snapped.

“It won’t do you any good.” Tritter was implacable. “He’s already submitted a statement. Signed and dated. Which constitutes admissible evidence in a court of law.”

It took a moment to sink in, for House to challenge Tritter's gaze long enough to tell that he really wasn't bluffing. The satisfied smirk on his face said it all. Wilson had really done it. For all his fine words about friendship, he had saved his own skin and abandoned House to the wolves. Even though it only served to prove him completely right about human nature, House was furious. He proceeded to call Wilson every name he could think of, swiping at various objects with his cane as Tritter watched indifferently. 

“You have three days,” he said, when House had finally exhausted his vocabulary and his reach.

"And if I tell you both to go to hell?"

"Then you're going to jail. Sometimes even not choosing is a choice." 

"Oh, that's very Zen, did they teach you that at detective school?"

He tried to brush past Tritter in order to reclaim his chair, but Tritter stayed standing firmly in his path. House thumped his cane on the ground in barely controlled rage.

“You’ve said what you had to say. Now get out.”

“You don’t like to lose, do you?”

House groaned theatrically. “Is this part of the deal? Listening to you gloat in clichés?”

“Because the world's so much clearer if everyone's out to get you. Despite what you might think, I'm not usually a vindictive man. I _was_ angry. Justifiably so. But mostly, I just go around trying to fix things, the same as you do. Now, getting you into rehab is a good start, but the only way to fix a problem for good is to treat the underlying cause, not just the symptoms. I'm sure you'd agree. Given the way your world works, even if you do go to rehab, it won't last. A year, two years, you'll be right back where you started, only more desperate than ever. People need more than work and pills to live on.”

Tritter finally stepped aside, pushing the remains of the newspaper out of the way with his foot, and let House sit down. House immediately put his legs up on the table, and looked at Tritter with scorn.

“Yes, because I should take the advice of someone who has nothing better to do with his _week off_ than sitting around in a hospital, high on nicotine gum, nosing through personnel files.”

“Doctor House. I still don't like you, and I still think you're an ass,” Tritter said, and House rolled his eyes. “But unlike some sections of society, you are useful. You serve a purpose. So I'm going to give you a little… friendly advice. Ease up on the pills. Ease up on your friends. While you still have them.”

"Oooh, sorry, I think it’s a little too late for that. On both counts. Guess I'll have to stick with being lonely and bitter."  


“It would be a mistake to take this out on Doctor Wilson.”

“Why? He’s a backstabber _and_ a coward.”

“Just because he didn’t do exactly what you wanted him to, for a change. Look, I did everything I could to get him to give you up a whole lot earlier, and failed. You know why he finally did it? Because he thought _you_ couldn't handle it anymore. Not him. _You_. That kind of loyalty is rare. Actually took me a while to believe you two were _just_ friends."

“Not any more.”

“Then you’re even stupider than I thought. You need him. You just won't admit it. And I think he's been waiting for you to notice that for a very long time. In more ways than one.”

House stared at him, still hostile, but intrigued despite himself. It was a ridiculous insinuation, of course. The simplest explanation was usually the correct one: Wilson had just grown tired of doing without his creature comforts and taken the easy way out. There was no need for complicated theories when simple self-interest was a perfect fit. And Tritter was completely wrong. He didn’t need Wilson. What he _needed_ were his pills. Tritter was merely screwing with him for reasons of his own.

"That's… an interesting conclusion. Stupid, but interesting. Especially coming from you." 

"You mean just because I'm a cop I'm automatically a right-wing bigot. Maybe so. But I'm also a realist. Unlike you, I see what’s actually there.”

The man’s confidence was infuriating, and House had always been short on self-control and restraint.

“Right. Wilson, the straightest, most conservative man alive. He just got married for fun. Three times. And all those _other_ women were imaginary too. ”

Tritter actually had the nerve to laugh at that.

“Not imaginary. Just not exclusive. You really have no idea about him, do you?”

“And you do.”

“I'll tell you what, Doctor House…”

After a few more minutes, Tritter finally left. House sat back in his chair and twirled his cane absently, staring at the wall that separated his office from Wilson’s as though he could bore a hole through it with his gaze.  
  
  
***  
  
  
“House? Talk to me! What just happened with you and Tritter?” Wilson continued to demand, finally forcing House out of his reverie.

House badly wanted to ask the same thing, although there had been no mistaking the sincerity of the kiss, the way Wilson had been pressing himself against Tritter. House had been nicely primed for mockery by the time Tritter had come in and switched off the TV, but Tritter's smirk had thrown him a little. Getting Wilson here meant nothing, he reminded Tritter, but Tritter had merely instructed him to stay out of sight and keep his mouth shut, or all bets were off. House had listened outside the door until Tritter's instructions, Wilson's silence, and his own curiosity had gotten the better of him. He'd seen for himself, and then promptly wished he hadn't. 

The sight had temporarily made him forget he wasn't on speaking terms with Wilson; his silence had been shock, not anger. And now Wilson was demanding explanations he'd never have thought he'd have to give. The summary House gave was very short, and deliberately misleading as to the details, but judging from Wilson's demeanor the picture was pretty clear to him all the same.

“So… he made you a bet? About my… about me. And you took it?” Wilson's outrage seemed unabated. “You're unbelievable! And you actually thought that was a good idea. Betting on how… how desperate I'd be. For someone to… for someone. Because of you.”

“I thought it'd be fun watching him try.” House's voice was sharp. There was no way he was going to back down after what Wilson had done to him. “I didn't think he'd actually _succeed_. But it explains a lot. So, is _that_ how he got you to turn on me? I should have known.”

The shock had driven the anger away for a moment, but it was slowly coming back, the sense of betrayal lending it even more strength.

“What? No!” Wilson looked stricken, and House noted it with a small degree of satisfaction. “House… I had to. I saw Chase. What you did to him. And Cuddy. I heard what almost happened to the little girl. And every time I tried to talk to you….” his voice trailed off. “I had to.”

“Yeah, so your life and everyone else's can go back to normal. And I win a free holiday to an institution.”

“It wasn't like that. You know it wasn't.” Wilson sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, scrubbing his face in defeat.

“Really? Then what _was_ it like?”

“I could… get by without the money, the car, even my patients. If you'll recall, I did exactly that. For a while. But I couldn't just stand around and watch you… self-destruct. To lose everything worthwhile in your life.”

And the hell of it was that House did believe him, even though it was so much easier if he could blame Wilson, rather than himself. The thing that had convinced him more than anything else had been the look on Wilson's face when Tritter had pulled away from him. It hadn't been pleasure or lust or even irritation at having been interrupted. It had been the quiet, focused desperation of someone who had gained the world, but lost his soul.

“Why not?” House said, his tone a little less harsh. “I'd do the same for you. And you _know_ that's true, too.”

It wasn't an apology, only an acknowledgement, but it broke the tension a little and drew a wry chuckle from Wilson. Finally, House sat down next to him on the bed, keeping a careful space between them. The worst part was that Tritter _had_ been right, about one thing at least. He didn't know Wilson nearly as well as he had thought. He had only ever seen what he had wanted, what he had _expected_ to see.

“And you were really going to…”

“Well, if you hadn't walked in….”

“Why?”

“Because… I don't know, because… he was there, and it would have made me feel better, just for a few hours? Because you weren't talking to me and I didn't have anyone else who might understand?”

“But after all he did. To both of us.”

“I don't know,” Wilson repeated. “Maybe I thought I'd at least get a little something out of it. Maybe it was to punish you, somehow. Even though I didn't think you'd find out or give a damn even if you did. It's not like you care about anything anymore other than where your next fix is coming from. You basically told me to get the hell out of your life. More than once.”

“I didn't mean…”

“Oh, you never _mean_.” Wilson's anger was banked back, far more controlled than the day he'd shouted at House, but the same intensity burned in his eyes. “And I'm stupid enough to go on believing you, time after time. Everything's always about you - what _you_ want, what _you_ need. Maybe I just wanted something to be about me, for a change. Anyway, you should have figured out by now he's exactly my type - tall, blue-eyed, complete bastard. You have to take what you can get.”

The words made House's breath catch in his throat. 

“Wilson.”

“Go to hell.”

In his head he could hear the sound of Tritter's soft laughter. House felt that he should have known, should have suspected a long time ago, and yet in the past he'd always managed to dismiss any thoughts in that direction before they took concrete shape. He'd known that he couldn't afford them, or the hope they represented. Wilson's soft fury only made him feel stupid and awkward. He bowed his head and the silence drew out for what seemed like a very long time before he finally found words.

“I didn't know.”

“Of course not. Even considering the idea would have ruined all your pet theories about why people act the way they do. Yes, I just stick around so I can lecture you, and feel superior to you, and feel good about myself. I couldn’t actually really care about you.”

“This is so completely not the time for this conversation.”

“You mean, _never_ is a good time for this conversation,” Wilson said, and his voice was tight. “I knew _that_ a long time ago.”

House shook his head, struggling to make Wilson understand.

“It's not that... I just… I'm really not sure what to do. With this.”

“Maybe you have something witty and cutting to say on your way out? In case I haven't been humiliated enough for one evening. Don't worry, I'll pick up the tab. I always do.”

It was so very difficult to think in the face of Wilson's bitterness. It wasn't right; it wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Right now, it seemed nothing was the way it was supposed to be anymore. He wondered when he last saw Wilson really smile.

“If we ever… it would be a disaster,” House said, and Wilson glanced at him for a moment before the corners of his mouth curled up in humorless resignation.

“Yeah, well, look around. It's already a disaster.”

“So that would mean… in theory, it probably couldn't get much worse.” 

Slowly, House moved a little further along the edge of the bed, and waited patiently for Wilson to turn his head, which he finally did. The kiss was tentative, dry, experimental, no more than the faint press of lips, but the frantic pounding of his own heart told House everything he really needed to know. He could lie to himself all he liked, but he would have to learn to do better with his autonomic responses. The second kiss was a bit better, especially when he ran a hand over Wilson's bare skin and Wilson gasped softly into his mouth.

“House?”

“Look, we can either do this or talk about it. I can't do both.”

“Maybe we should… talk about it,” Wilson managed, despite the heat in his eyes, the flush already suffusing his face all the way down to his chest.

“Later.”  
 _  
And third time pays for all_ , was all House managed to think as he slipped Wilson's still-unbuttoned shirt from off his shoulders and pressed him down onto the bed. After a few minutes there was a break for the quick and awkward removal of his own shoes, socks, and T-shirt while Wilson watched, but he managed to find his way back to what he was doing without too much difficulty. Wilson's hands caressed his back and chest as House continued to kiss him.

House was still feeling more cautious than passionate, but there was something there all the same, especially when Wilson's eyes flickered open and regarded him with something like wonder. House knew he wasn't exactly at his prettiest, if that concept had any meaning at all applied to him to begin with. He’d had enough to do just trying to stay on top of the pain and the all-consuming need for his pills that had filled his every waking moment. But with Wilson looking at him like that, he could almost forget, for a moment.

Before long, Wilson's erection was pressing against his good thigh, and House was half-hard, but when Wilson's hand finally reached for him, he knew his body had been through too much in the last few days to co-operate. He plucked it away gently.

“I don't think I can… Not now.”

For a brief moment, Wilson looked unsure again.

“Some other time,“ House said, already making promises he wasn't sure he could keep. “I just want to… see you.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” The conviction is his own voice surprised him.

He reached down to touch Wilson, just a gentle brush of his fingers along the outside of the fabric, and watched the uncertainty in Wilson's eyes transmute back into desire. For him. It was scarcely believable, but the proof was right there beneath his hands. 

After a few more exploratory strokes, he helped Wilson divest himself of the pants, and then gently wrapped his fingers around Wilson's dick. It felt smooth and heavy in his hand, and his smallest movements elicited the most amazing sounds. He lay there for a while, propped up on his left side, just watching Wilson's face as he stroked him, the way he would moan when House touched him _there_ and did _that_. He even experimented with taking Wilson into his mouth, enjoying the curses, the helpless arching of Wilson's body, but after a while he released him and went back to what he had been doing, wanting to see him better, wanting more of Wilson's mouth against his own.

There was something strangely soothing in the simple act of giving Wilson pleasure, and he could have gone on for longer, but Wilson obviously had other ideas. He had been fairly quiet, but his breathing showed that he was getting close. Wilson now turned over so that he was almost lying on top of House, bracing himself against House's left shoulder, avoiding his damaged thigh. He wrapped his own hand around House's, helping him for a moment before letting go and beginning to thrust into House's fist in earnest. House could barely focus on Wilson's face, but he could see that he was biting his lip, eyes tight shut in concentration. And then he was crying out, pushing himself against House's hand over and over.  
 _  
Oh, god, House_ , he was saying, and then, at the last moment, _Greg_ , before his whole body shuddered and then stilled.

The intimacy of his first name from Wilson's lips was shocking, and House found himself trembling with something he couldn't name. As soon as he was sure that it was over, he pulled Wilson down into a fierce embrace, heat and sweat and mess be damned, at least for the moment. Wilson murmured something soft and unintelligible, but did not protest. House held him there until the feeling had passed, and it had all become too hot and uncomfortable, and then finally pushed him off. Wilson rolled onto his back, and his eyes flickered open for a moment, searching. He still looked a little uncertain, but calm, and at peace in a way House hadn't seen for a long time. Wilson's hand reached for his, and held it for a moment.

“Well, glad to see _one_ of us had a good time,” House said at last.

“We could still try…”

“Really not going to work.” House sighed, then tightened his hand around Wilson's. “It doesn't matter.”

Of course it mattered; there was just nothing he could do about it. He was detoxing at a slower rate than the week when he'd gone without any pills at all, but the reduction had had drastic effects, and his body just wasn't really interested in anything but punishing itself at the moment.

Wilson's thumb rubbed the back of his hand gently. “You could… before.”

“Yeah.”

House thought briefly of Stacy, and how he'd let her go again after their brief affair. Not because he cared too much, but because he didn't care enough, and he wasn't willing or able to change. Even for Wilson, he wasn't sure he could manage it. But Wilson wasn't really asking him to change who he was, only to pull himself out of the downward spiral, for his own sake. Before it claimed them both. He sighed. He hoped Wilson would appreciate it, because he certainly wasn't going to.

“Two whole months. You don't think a couple of weeks would do it?”

“Does that mean… you're going to take the rehab?” Wilson's relief was unmistakable.

House grimaced in an expression which passed for a yes. “Tomorrow.”

“Thank God,” Wilson said, then pulled House down into a kiss. “Maybe I should have tried this approach earlier.”

“If I find you married again when I get out I'm going to be pissed.”

“Don't worry. I'm used to waiting.” 

He smiled at House then, really smiled, and House found he had to look away.  
  
  
***  
  
  
They ended up in the living room, side-by-side on the black leather sofa, watching a seasonal repeat of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which House had insisted on the moment he spotted it on the screen. It had been a very long time since he'd seen it, and something in its simple, stop-motion animated glory called to him. Wilson had rolled his eyes but said nothing. In the glow of the flickering screen, it was almost like having Wilson over on a normal Thursday night, the way it used to be, except for the crisp white bathrobes, the silver-domed room service trays, and the way Wilson sat a little closer than he'd ever done before, occasionally brushing House's arm as they ate.

While Wilson had been in the shower, House had taken his evening dose of the small concession he'd painfully coerced from Cuddy. He'd cradled the pill in the palm of his hand and looked at it before swallowing. He had one more for the morning. It wasn't nearly enough compared to the amounts he had been taking, but at least the pain seemed to have cut him a small break this evening. Tomorrow, he would take the deal. Rehab would be brutal, but he'd get through it and maybe, just maybe, this time he could keep things under control.

On the screen, Rudolph and Hermey-the-elf-who-would-be-a-dentist were declaring their joint independence and setting off together to seek their fortunes. House abandoned his half-eaten cheeseburger for a moment, and began methodically stealing the rest of the fries from Wilson's sandwich plate. Wilson barely even bothered to glare at him, so he continued to take full advantage. Suddenly, the Abominable Snowman roared at them from behind a mountain, a quiff of white hair showing above dull, blank eyes and sharp, pointed teeth.

“Hey, remind you of anyone?” House commented.

Wilson set down his sandwich for a moment in favor of a sip of juice. “I think you're over-identifying just a _little_.”

“You'd make a great dentist. Patients would thank you for a root canal.”

House finished the last of the fries, and then sat back to continue watching, rubbing his leg absently. Even now, some part of him longed for the extra tablet back in his jacket pocket, just one more for the road. Or ten more, as the case might be. He stopped when Wilson's gaze drew his attention to what he was doing.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not great, but I'll live. And soon the fun will really begin. I just wish I could jam a few ornaments up Tritter's ass to celebrate.”

“He just did what you would have done.”

“I really don't think so.”

“Experimenting on you, harassing those around you, and then bullying you into his own unfathomable solution. Sounds exactly like you.”

“Exactly whose side are you on?”

“House.”

The thought of Wilson in Tritter's arms still made something inside him flare and bristle. Wilson's propensity for totally inappropriate relationships had always bothered him, and as it turned out he hadn't even known the half of it. People didn't really change all that much after a certain age; not only did he know that intellectually, but he was also a living example. He would have to accept Wilson the way he was, or not at all. Still, he thought a warning couldn't hurt.

“If this is going to… go anywhere…” he began, then settled for a flat statement. “I don't share. With anyone.”

Wilson gave him a long, serious look, and thought for a minute before replying.

“The thing about getting what you want _and_ what you need is that… it means you can stop looking.”

“Does that actually mean anything or did you just lose your car keys again?”

Wilson smiled at him, reading his irritation for what it was.

“There's nothing I could say that would make you believe me, anyway. You're just going to have to trust me. For a change.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“You'll have to get used to it.”

Outside, it had begun to snow, and on the screen Rudolph and Hermey were being rejected from the Island of Misfit Toys for failing to fit in. House yawned broadly, finding himself exhausted from the warmth and the food and everything else that had happened that day. Wilson got up to draw the curtains, and then bent to retrieve the bundle that had come on the room service tray, the one wrapped in a salmon-pink napkin. Then he went over to the sideboard on the opposite wall and began laying out the contents slowly on the drinks tray. They were plain white tea lights; no doubt the same kind usually found burning in colored holders in the downstairs restaurant. Wilson set them down in a straight line from right to left, straightening the wicks out carefully as he went.

“Are we having a séance?” House said, although he knew very well what Wilson was doing.

“It was the best they could do at no notice.” There were eight candles, but Wilson stopped after the seventh and kept the eighth one aside. A lighter had also been included, and Wilson set it down beside the tray before stepping back to contemplate his handiwork.

Even though Wilson hadn't bothered to ask, House muted the TV anyway. He watched in silence as Wilson began to chant the ritual prayers softly, almost under his breath. Three blessings, including the one thanking God for allowing them to reach this time of year, the one normally only recited on the first night.

When Wilson had finished speaking, he lit the extra candle with the lighter, and used it to light each of the others in turn, this time proceeding from left to right along the row. The short, flat candles made it a little awkward; he had to hold the candles so close their entire surfaces almost touched to catch the flame. When he was finished, he put the still-burning servant candle behind the row of its companions, resting it on top of an upside-down glass he had retrieved from the mini-bar. 

“Three blessings, not two,” House said, when Wilson had finally returned to his side. They sat there for a moment, watching the candles burn in silence, the points of light clearly visible in the dim lighting of the room. “This is the first time you've lit them this year.”

“There didn't seem like a whole lot to be thankful for.” Wilson leaned into him, and kissed him briefly. “Now, maybe there is.”

House couldn't think of a thing to say. Tomorrow he would have to face Tritter again, and there would be recriminations all around, and he was sure the months ahead were going to be spectacularly unpleasant. But maybe, just maybe there would be something good to come out of this after all. If he could bring himself to believe in it. And right now there was nothing but peace, and something that felt dangerously like contentment. His leg still ached, and the pills still weren't quite enough, but the feeling was lurking treacherously all the same.

House cast one more look at the candles, at then at Wilson, before reaching for the remote again. He unmuted the TV, and settled back to watch the rest of the program, his hand resting lightly on Wilson's thigh. The extra pill could wait, and he would leave tomorrow's woes to tomorrow. It wasn't yet Christmas Eve; there was still time, perhaps, for misfits like Rudolph and Hermey to find their rightful places in the world.  
  
  
***  
  
 _Through the years_  
 _We all will be together,_  
 _If the Fates allow._  
 _Hang a shining star upon the highest bough…_  
 _And have yourself a merry little Christmas now._


End file.
